


Reconciliation

by Impressioniste



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:17:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impressioniste/pseuds/Impressioniste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris and Marian address their three-year separation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconciliation

Fenris is restless as usual, pacing the filthy, crumbling floors of Danarius’ mansion long into the darkest hours of the night, not bothering to light more than one or two lamps out of necessity. He doesn’t need to see more than that, doesn’t really _want_ to—he knows the floors and walls and rooms and corridors intimately enough to navigate them with his eyes closed, and pure darkness seems preferable to strange shadows.

It’s long after midnight when Hawke stumbles in through his doorway, and he narrows his eyes and ponders the strange hour for company. It’s not until he meets her in the corridor, halfway between the door and the main room, that he notices she’s covered in blood.

He isn’t accustomed to displays of concern or affection, but his spine seems to straighten of its own accord, the muscles of his back going rigid with apprehension as she stumbles slightly against him, smearing blood across his cheek before she rights her self, then looks up, and smiles.

“Not mine,” she says. Fenris sighs in relief.

“Had a job in the Undercity tonight,” she continues with a roguish half-grin. “Rooting out blood mages. Things got… messy.”

Fenris’ eyes flash for an instant. “Had you asked—”

“I know,” she cuts him off abruptly. She does not offer explanations, or reasons why she declined to do so, but Fenris tells himself that he’s okay with that, that neither of them really owe each other anything at all.

Fenris clears his throat and stands up straighter, now that Hawke has regained her bearings. Her face is silhouetted by a light behind her, one of the few he had actually lit, and he wonders why she has come here so suddenly, specifically to this place and to him, when she could truly have gone anywhere if she was looking for comfort or company or a favor, or whatever she happens to be searching for at this time of night.

“To what occasion do I owe the… pleasure of your company?” he asks, his voice faltering the slightest bit on the word ‘pleasure’. The last time they had met late at night like this was not here, but at Hawke’s, almost three long years ago, and he couldn’t imagine that was the reason why she had sought him out now, not after the way things had ended between them.

“Just thought I’d drop in and see what you’ve done with the place,” Hawke replies a little too quickly, a little too evasively. “I think the walls could use a new coat of Aggregio.”

Fenris chuckles softly under his breath, but the laughter doesn’t reach his eyes. He isn’t sure if she can tell that he sees through her flippancy, if she can tell that he knows her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, either.

“I always did appreciate your taste in the finer things,” Fenris says, pointedly not meeting Hawke’s eyes as she turns to look at him. There is a long, unpleasant pause until she, too, looks away again.

Hawke laughs, a nervous, silly, desperate laugh. “It shouldn’t be like this between us.”

“I… agree.” Fenris’ voice is little more than a harsh whisper.

She smiles again after that reply, so very taciturn and yet so very telling at the same time, and closes in on him, taking the initiative and stepping closer, close enough to make Fenris stop averting his eyes and actually look at her, actually see her for the first time since she blundered through his door.

Hawke touches his cheek with the back of her hand, her bloodstained leather armor creaking as she moved.

“Hawke?” Fenris asks, his pulse quickening despite his confusion.

“I don’t care about before,” she says, lowering her head against his slender frame to rest on his shoulder, sighing against the warm, inviting slope of his neck.

He doesn’t return the gesture, it feels too awkward and he doesn’t really know what he should do with his hands, what she _wants_ him to do with them… but he doesn’t push her away, either, finding her weight against him to be strangely comforting. His cheek presses gently against the top of her head.

“I just—” Hawke begins, but falters and stumbles over her words. “The estate is so quiet. It’s… lonely.” The strength in her voice fades out on ‘lonely’, as if she was trying to take it back, only a moment too late.

“I see,” Fenris says, softly.

“I mean, if I had to listen to Sandal and that dog snoring in tandem again for one more night I was going to burn the place down and join the squatters in Lowtown again,” Hawke jokes, but the jovial tone to her voice is forced and shallow, and Fenris notices, though he keeps it to himself.

“That _does_ sound rather unpleasant,” he says, humoring her.

“Then, perhaps…” Hawke says tentatively, trying to gauge Fenris’ response ahead of him. “Perhaps I could… stay? Tonight?” She backs up quickly with a disarming smile. “Just for the sake of the estate. I mean, all those handmade curtains would just be a _shame_ to lose like that. And I’m sure the fire brigade would be grateful. And poor Bodahn, Maker love him.” She was rambling when Fenris finally took her by the arm.

“My door is always open to you, Hawke.”

She flushes for a moment, but regains her composure almost immediately, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she clears her throat.

“It _would_ give us a chance to… talk,” she offers, and Fenris suddenly feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

He doesn’t reply, simply nods, Hawke falling in step beside him as they leave the corridor, ascending the darkened staircases to the room that Fenris has claimed the use of, but refuses to call ‘his’ bedroom.

Hawke stumbles on a step in the darkness, but Fenris holds out an arm to steady her before she falls, and when she smiles up at him in gratitude, this time, he can see that it does, without a doubt, reach her eyes.


End file.
